


i’m discarding pieces of myself in the dark

by coffeeandchemicals



Category: Black Sails
Genre: 3x07, Ableist Language, Canon Disabled Character, Character Study, Dissociation, Dom/sub Undertones, Episode Tag, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, References to Depression, Self-Hatred, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29096157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandchemicals/pseuds/coffeeandchemicals
Summary: Silver swallows and fights the urge to run his tongue along his dry, chapped lips. It’s been awhile since they were in the Doldrums, but they were in cages after that, and Silver still feels stretched too thin over his bones. He knows his eyes are shadowed and cheeks are hollow; he can see the same in Flint’s visage, and on the faces of the remaining crew – he can’t let himself think of the ones they’d lost. They all bear more than just the physical scars of their most recent misfortunes. Silver’s are just the most evident.Or: Flint tries to help Silver during the events of 3x07
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	i’m discarding pieces of myself in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> I’m on my rewatch of _Black Sails_ and Silver’s turmoil in episode 3x07 inspired me to write this. And then it turned into something a little darker. So, mind the tags, please. Further description of the self-hatred tag at the end. 
> 
> This is unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own.

Silver’s stomach is already clenching with shame, as if he somehow knows the words that are going to spill from Billy’s mouth before he speaks them. And when Billy suggests that Silver deliver this message telling Nassau that Flint has returned from the dead, making Silver’s appearance an eerie portent of Flint’s revenant brought up from the deep, Silver knows that it’s because Billy doesn’t want to give Flint more power. Silver’s rational brain recognizes that Billy’s hate for Flint is the reason that Billy put forth Silver as an alternative to the captain; it’s Billy’s way of undermining Flint’s authority; his attempt at toppling Flint’s tyranny. 

But, Silver’s irrational brain — his emotional mind, the one that he usually keeps hidden away, restrained behind his smirk and swagger — just confirms that the crew already sees him as something other than fully human: an oddity, a distraction, something to be looked after rather than someone capable of looking after himself. And, Silver concedes, bitterness working up the back of his throat, it’s not like he is able to swagger anymore, anyway. That layer of protection has been stripped away.

“Who'll be able to take their eyes off the one-legged creature?” Silver remarks, feeling his mouth turn down as that bitterness spills out. He tries to cover it up with a laugh, but it just comes out sounding cynical and derisive, a dry chuckle further conveying his self-hatred. 

Flint glances up at him, eyebrows furrowing in what Silver would swear is concern, but he knows better than to assume that Flint feels strongly enough about Silver to be troubled by his feelings.

Silver swallows and fights the urge to run his tongue along his dry, chapped lips. It’s been awhile since they were in the Doldrums, but they were in cages after that, and Silver still feels stretched too thin over his bones. He knows his eyes are shadowed and cheeks are hollow; he can see the same in Flint’s visage, and on the faces of the remaining crew — he can’t let himself think of the ones they’d lost. They all bear more than just the physical scars of their most recent misfortunes. Silver’s are just the most evident. 

So, here Silver stands, stretched too thin, paper skin over glass bones; he’s barely got enough substance to hold himself together. But he can’t let the rest of the crew know — they can’t see him as weak, even though he’s certain that most of them do already, even if they’re not aware of it.

But Billy suggesting that Silver should be the one to bear this message is a wound that he’s not sure he can recover from. It’s already wriggled into his brain, whispering to him that he’s no longer whole, no longer a contributing member of the crew, he’s a figurehead, a mascot. Something other than what he once was. Something he’ll never be again. 

He’s no longer a person. 

And this validates what Silver is feeling: he isn’t human, he switches roles as is required of him; it’s his only coping method. On most days, he’s playing the quartermaster — listening to the men, solving their petty complaints, running the ship when Flint has made himself scarce, being the mediator between the surly captain and his crew. On these days, Silver pushes the pain down. He doesn’t know what Madi’s woman had put onto his wound, but it had helped; although, what would really help is weeks of rest and sitting to keep the weight off his leg; he can’t afford that, not when Flint is so determined to have his war.

He can’t look weak.

On other days, he plays the part of Flint’s confidant, his foil, his voice of reason. And sometimes Flint actually acquiesces to Silver’s role, actually talks to Silver, and, on even rarer occasions, listens to what Silver has to say. Flint has begun to open up to him. And, in these instances, Silver doesn’t mind playing this role, he’d rather be Flint’s confidant and _friend_ than John Silver. Sometimes, Silver thinks that Flint wants him in this role. He reads it in the small smiles that actually touch Flint’s eyes when Flint is looking at him. Silver cherishes the crinkles at the corners of those eyes, the small laugh lines that deepen when Flint is grinning as if they’re sharing an inside joke. As if Flint is actually able to let himself relax around Silver. 

But when Flint closes himself off to Silver, lets out some snide remark about Silver’s worth, Silver is brought back into himself. And he remembers that he’s not Flint’s confidant, not the quartermaster, just John Silver: the worthless cripple.

Then he needs to find an escape, fill some new role, so he can shed John Silver’s skin and don someone else’s.

Thankfully, a third role has appeared for Silver to step into: Madi’s confidant, her support. In this role, he is almost her equal. In this role, he can almost let go of some of the tension that’s holding him upright. In this role, he can almost let himself relax, show some weakness, show some pain. Almost, but not quite.

So, Silver has three roles. Three characters he can play, switching from one to another as needed. And this is how he loses himself; this is how he can think of himself not at all. He has people who need him to fulfill some sort of purpose and, in doing so, he can just be that need and not a separate entity. He is a void waiting for substance.

He doesn’t have to recognize that he is actually a _one-legged creature_. But those words have left his mouth and he doesn’t know how to proceed, shift the focus from him to something else.

He’s saved from saying something drastic by a knock at the door. De Groot sticks his head in and says, “Land on the horizon. Shall we make our approach?”

Silver turns to De Groot and, with as much steadiness that he can muster, he says, “Do it. And make ready the launches. I'll lead the shore party as soon as we arrive.” He says this in a quiet tone, hoping that it’ll mask the tremor that threatens to enter his voice. When De Groot nods his ascent, Silver almost sighs with relief.

The men leave the room and Silver takes a few breaths to steel himself. He needs to ignore the pain that’s working up through the end of his shortened leg. The boot, while aiding his movement, is not comfortable, and he can feel the wound pulsing with every beat of his heart. Despite his fever finally breaking and the swelling going down, Silver knows that both could swiftly return. He wonders, as he turns to leave, if this excursion into Nassau will cause both to reassert themselves.

“Mr. Silver,” comes Flint’s voice, quietly from behind him, “a word, please?”

Silver knows this ‘please’ does not denote a request, but a demand trussed up to make Flint sound reasonable. Billy looks back at Silver over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in an unspoken question. Silver gives a small shake of his head and turns back to face Flint, while Billy closes the door behind him.

“Do you want to sit?” Flint asks, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. 

Silver ponders for a moment if he wants to save face, but then gives in to the pain and takes a seat in the chair. He stretches his leg out, trying to alleviate the weight and pressure off the end of it.

Flint continues to lean over the desk, eyes searching Silver’s face. Silver wonders what he’s trying to ascertain but doesn’t say anything to break the silence.

“Tell me the truth,” Flint says, straightening and walking around the desk. He props himself against the front of the desk and crosses his arms, “Do you think this is a good idea?”

“What? Billy’s plan?” Silver asks, looking up at Flint’s face, but he can’t read the expression on it.

Flint nods.

Silver sighs and says, “I doubt we could come up with a better plan before we reach Nassau. And besides, you said Billy knows what he’s doing, knows how to stir up a crowd.”

“He does,” Flint agrees.

“So, what’s the problem? Or is it just because he came up with it?”

Flint grins and ducks his head.

Silver returns his grin with a small one of his own. “So that’s it then, you don’t like it because it isn’t your plan.” Shifting as the pain starts working its way up his leg and into his hip, he continues with, “We need to get more men somehow. I don’t know how else we’ll draw them out of their comfortable cages without reminding them of their fear of you.”

Flint’s smile drops as he repeats, “Their fear of me.”

Silver moves again, trying to relieve the knot in his thigh — his new gait is taking a toll on his body. He finally bends both legs and places his elbows on his knees, barely disguising the wince of pain that tightens the corners of his mouth and furrows his brows. “Yes,” Silver says, after taking a few slow breaths to stymie the pain, “their fear of you. And,” he adds, “their allegiance to you, but that won’t force them to return to the black. They need to be reminded of what will happen if they cross you.”

“And you think that you can deliver this message?” Flint muses, voice thoughtful. “Adequately remind them of their fear?”

“I got the men to follow you when we lost the gold,” Silver says, quietly, “to most, that would have been an impossible task.”

“One that you brought upon yourself,” Flint counters, an edge hardening his tone causing Silver to look up at him. Flint’s eyes are narrowed, but he looks more concerned than angry. Although, Flint’s mouth is pinched and Silver assumes that Flint is physically stopping himself from letting more biting remarks out. 

“Yes,” Silver agrees, because it is true, and he doesn’t have the energy to argue. “But it was still my words that brought them back into the fold.” Flint doesn’t respond and after a minute, Silver adds, “And I can do it again.”

Flint nods and drops down into a crouch in front of Silver. For a moment, Silver feels a surge of envy hit him; he’s never going to move in that easy manner again. He took for granted all the times he’d crouched down, dropped to his knees, scurried down rope ladders, and now he is a cripple, an invalid, a _thing_ ; he’ll never move that fluidly again — something else for him to mourn in secret. 

“Did you truly mean it?” Flint asks, as he looks up into Silver’s face, pulling Silver out of his spiralling thoughts.

“What?” Silver says, confused, “getting more men to follow you?”

“No,” Flint says, quietly. Then he licks his lips and Silver’s eyes are drawn to the tip of his tongue, he watches it as it sweeps over Flint’s bottom lip again. 

And Silver realizes that when Flint had dropped down, he’d shifted the power balance within their relationship. Or at least put forth the appearance of a power imbalance, ceding power to Silver by making himself physically lower. Silver wonders if this was a conscious decision. Probably. Flint is too smart to do anything without recognizing the motive behind it.

“That you believe you are a one-legged creature,” Flint clarifies, repeating Silver’s words, but not his tone. Flint moves his hand towards Silver’s leg and Silver’s heart beats a tattoo against his ribs as Flint drags his fingers across Silver’s knee, gentle enough that he won’t cause Silver any pain.

The intimacy of the gesture makes Silver’s breath catch in his throat.

“You think you are no longer a man, something subhuman, a creature?” Flint muses, still lightly trailing his fingers down the top part of Silver’s shin, making Silver shiver with the tenderness of it.

“Is – Isn’t that how you see me? How the men see me?” Silver asks, voice strained. He doesn’t add _it’s how you should see me; it’s how I see myself_. But he feels like the words hang in the air between them, as if Flint has the uncanny ability to hear Silver’s thoughts. 

Flint looks up from Silver’s leg, hand tightening slightly around his knee. He strokes his thumb over the inside of Silver’s knee, drawing all of Silver’s attention to the heat of Flint’s palm and the pressure of the repeated motion. 

“The men see you as their saviour, as their friend, as their way to a better life,” Flint finally responds, standing up and, once again, leaning back against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. He continues to stare at Silver with a thoughtful expression on his face. 

“And you?” Silver asks, unable to tear his eyes away from Flint’s. 

Flint smiles, straightens, and sticks out his hand. Silver grasps it and Flint pulls him to his feet. They’re almost standing toe to toe. Flint strokes his thumb over the tender skin of Silver’s inner wrist, mimicking his previous gesture on Silver’s knee. Flint leans forward, bringing his face close to Silver’s ear. 

“If you think that I see you as anything less than a man,” Flint whispers, lips brushing the shell of Silver’s ear, “then you haven’t been paying attention.”

* * *

Silver should have been expecting the pain. He had already been in pain before and putting that much force on the iron boot as he brought it down and then through Dufresne’s head, well that had increased the pain tenfold. But he had been running on adrenaline when he’d picked up the ledger and walked out of the bar, his words, “I’ve got a long fucking memory,” still ringing in the silence.

The men had helped him back on the ship and he’d made his way in a daze to see Dr. Howell, who had sighed heavily at him and muttered something about not taking it easy.

Silver’s about to respond when Flint walks in and asks the men to leave them. 

Silver sits, staring ahead, thoughts racing, leg throbbing, as he pulls up the visceral memory of Dufresne’s head, beaten to a pulp, no longer recognizable as the man who had betrayed them. 

Flint’s voice comes from far away as he says, “You were right. About the toll it took, playing this part. Losing Miranda. The things that losing Miranda drove me to. So I know what you're feeling in this moment.”

Silver doesn’t look up, he can’t meet Flint’s gaze, not when the other man is being so vulnerable; he’s afraid Flint’s vulnerability will force cracks into his barely-there façade. “I perceived its effects on you,” he finally says, voice unsteady. Swallowing, Silver continues, “What I assumed was sorrow, loneliness. And worst of all terror at the thing you were becoming. There is an element of this journey into the dark that... I'm only now beginning to appreciate.”

“What's that?”

Meeting Flint’s eyes, Silver says, voice cracking, almost as if he hasn’t had enough water, like they’re back in the Doldrums, “How good it feels.”

Flint takes two steps forward and stands next to the table that Silver is sitting on, whole leg dangling, and his left leg, the reddened skin of the wound angry and inflamed, stretched out in front of him. 

Silver licks his lips, mouth dry, suddenly unsure if he should have bared himself so in front of Flint; he is still on uneven footing (literally and metaphorically) in their relationship. And, right now, he is too tired to put on any costume, play any role; he is just John Silver, a drawn and weary man, waiting to see what happens next. But, in that instant, wound exposed, soul exposed, he actually feels like a man and not a _creature_. He actually feels whole rather than an incomplete sum of his individual parts.

Flint moves slowly, bringing his hand to rest on Silver’s left shoulder, its weight is warm and anchoring. “Yes,” Flint says, voice low, “that’s the way it draws you in, seduces you bit by bit. The dark hides all manner of sins. Wraps you in its folds, until you no longer recognize yourself when you finally get back into the light. But it’s a wily thief; it moves so slowly that you don’t realize what it’s taken until it’s too late.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” Silver asks, straightening slightly, relishing the way Flint’s hand tightens on his shoulder.

Flint nods. “Yes, mostly. I am not the same man that I was when I started this. But, I think,” he adds, voice soft, “that I don’t want to be.”

“No?”

“No,” Flint agrees. “the world is harsh and cruel and terribly unfair.”

Silver nods in agreement; he knows this and has known this since he was a small boy. 

“And,” Flint adds, “if you are going to survive, then you, too, must become harsh and cruel. For the world takes the pureness and softness from you, strips them away, until all that is left is your darker nature.”

“And this darker nature,” Silver says, “it is how you survive?”

Flint rubs his thumb over Silver’s collarbone, forcing the shirt away until he is touching Silver’s skin. “I wasn’t always Flint,” he says, watching his thumb as it drags across Silver’s skin, “Flint is my darker nature. He is who I had to become to survive.” Flint swallows and moves his hand closer to the join between Silver’s shoulder and neck, so Silver can feel the roughness of Flint’s palm on his skin, and still, Flint moves his thumb over the hollow of Silver’s throat. “I don’t much like Flint,” Flint adds, “he is uncaring, a brute, callous. He is many more things I’ve come to abhor. But,” here Flint licks his lips, “he is also me stripped down to my essence and I’ve grown to need him. The man I once was, he’s just a dream now, just a distant memory. I buried the last remnants of him with Miranda.”

Silver looks from Flint’s face to his chest and back again, unsure if he should say anything, if this will stop Flint’s ministrations.

Flint smiles a soft, sad smile, meeting Silver’s eyes, “And, now that I think about it,” he says, “it’s almost been a relief, letting that part of myself die.”

Silver swallows and feels the hand resting at the base of his throat. He sees Flint’s gaze move from his hand to Silver’s face and Silver wonders what Flint sees in it. Flint slides his hand up until it’s resting just below Silver’s jaw. Silver knows that it would take barely any pressure for Flint to cut off his air and, for a moment, Silver lets himself sag against it in surrender; Flint can hold him up for awhile, take some of his burden. Silver lets his eyes close with this feeling of relief.

And then Flint’s voice comes from right next to his ear — Silver doesn’t know how he moved so quietly — saying, “So, yes, I can appreciate how good it feels.”

Silver shudders and lets out a trembling breath, feeling himself harden in his breeches, and wonders when a hand at his throat and words whispered softly into his ear started to have this effect on him. Or if it’s just Flint’s proximity, his undivided attention, the intimacy of the situation, that is causing Silver’s arousal.

Flint lets go of Silver’s throat and Silver’s eyes fly open as fear floods through him. Flint has seen his arousal and is going to kill him. But Flint has this little smirk on his face and one of his eyebrows raised as he straightens. He trails his fingertips down Silver’s chest and cups Silver’s cloth-covered cock. He grinds the heel of his palm into the base of it, making Silver moan with the increased pressure. 

Flint wraps his other hand around the back of Silver’s neck and leans back down until Silver can feel Flint’s beard rub against his cheek. “I know that you’ve been struggling,” Flint says, voice low, as he continues to move his hand over Silver’s cock and squeeze the other one around Silver’s neck. 

Silver can only let out breathy gasps, feeling pinioned between two exquisite points of pressure. 

“I can see it,” Flint continues, “you are very good at hiding it. But _I_ can see you’re crumbling under these roles you’ve been forced into.”

Flint moves his hand up to the waist of Silver’s breeches and unbuttons them. He works Silver’s cock out of its confines and Silver shivers as the air hits the head. Flint continues to move his hand up and down Silver’s cock, slicking it with the precome that gathers at the head. The friction is just on the right side of painful and Silver has to stop himself from jerking up into Flint’s grasp.

Flint bites down just below the hinge of Silver’s jaw and soothes it with strokes of his tongue. “And now you’re following me into the dark. But you’ve become so broken that you can’t see yourself anymore as who you truly are.”

Flint flicks his thumb over the head of Silver’s cock, presses down slightly, and winds his other hand into Silver’s hair. He pulls lightly on Silver’s hair, bringing Silver’s head back until they’re both looking into each other’s eyes. Silver feels even more exposed than he did before, but the twinges of pain that move over Silver’s scalp as Flint tightens his fingers in Silver’s hair, coupled with the drag of Flint’s calloused hand over Silver’s cock, settle him into himself. 

Flint drags his tongue across his bottom lip and his pupils are blown. He leans down and gently brushes his lips across Silver’s partly opened mouth, swallowing Silver’s groan. 

Flint pulls back and says, “So let me put you back together. Let me be the one to make sure you see yourself as whole and strong and a man, not a _creature_.” He bends down and kisses Silver once more, holding Silver in place so he can deepen the kiss and lick into Silver’s mouth. 

Silver comes with a hoarse shout that is mostly muffled by Flint’s mouth and the slide of his tongue across Silver’s. Flint slows his hand as Silver begins to soften and draws back from the kiss, catching Silver’s bottom lip with his teeth before straightening. Silver feels Flint’s hand move from the back of his head down between his shoulder blades to steady him. 

“Do we have an agreement?” Flint asks, leaving his palm hot and heavy on Silver’s back. 

Silver lets out a few shaky breaths and then whispers, “What do you want from me? All I heard was what you’re going to do for me and not what you expect in return.”

Flint smiles softly and drags the tips of his fingers along the inseam of Silver’s breeches. “This isn’t a transactional offer. Let me help you. Let me lead you so that when you’re through with your journey into the dark, you can still look at yourself in the mirror when you’re done. So, let me rephrase: is this something you want?”

“And if I say no?” Silver asks, eyes moving from Flint’s face to the hand on his breeches and back again, knowing that he isn’t going to say no.

“Then we move on,” Flint says, “go back to the way things were, you as my quartermaster and me as the captain. Our roles clearly defined.”

“And if I say yes?” Silver whispers, tearing his gaze away from Flint’s face, not sure he wants to discern what emotion will cloud Flint’s eyes. He can’t stand to see pity there. 

Flint slides his hand from Silver’s back up so that it’s cradling the side of Silver’s face, drawing him towards Flint. Flint places a soft kiss on Silver’s temple and says, “Then you come to me when you start feeling like this — like the way you were earlier — when you feel like you can’t handle the men asking you for something else, when you feel like people are taking and taking and giving you nothing in return. When you feel the call of the darkness, its voice worming its way into your head. When you feel like you’re going to do something terrible, irrational, something born out of fear or hatred or disgust. Let me help you.”

Silver lets out a small chuckle. “But we can do more… more of this, right?” He gestures between them and vaguely in the direction of his cock that he should really tuck away.

Flint grins and his eyes follows Silver’s hand. “I’m counting on that.” He picks up a rag, dips into some water, and wipes up the mess of Silver’s slowly drying come on his breeches. 

Silver sighs and says, “Good.” He swings his right leg up and over the table so that they’re bracketing Flint’s hips. Despite the height of the table, Flint is still taller than him, and Silver is reminded earlier of the way Flint had shifted the power in their relationship by dropping into a crouch in front of him. Silver wonders what Flint would look like on his knees before him.

“You know,” Silver says, wetting his lips, “I want to do the same for you. If you need someone to talk to, someone to help carry your burdens. The world doesn’t always have to be cruel.”

Flint cups both hands around Silver’s face, strokes his thumbs over Silver’s cheekbones, and bends down to press a gentle kiss to Silver’s lips. “I’d like that. Not right now, but maybe in the future. Right now, I need to remain as Flint. Otherwise, we will be trapped in an unwinnable war. And I can’t let that happen, not when so much is at stake.”

“In the future, then,” Silver agrees. He slides off the table and dresses himself and slips on the iron boot just before they leave the room.

“I’ll see you soon,” Flint says, softly into Silver’s ear. Louder, he adds, “And, tomorrow, we’ll see how many men you were able to remind of their fear of me.”

Before they’re about to split off in different directions, Flint wraps his hand around Silver’s wrist and says, “But I hope that you will never fear me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Silver is feeling extreme self-hatred over his injury, due to the pain it’s causing him and his lack of mobility. 
> 
> Some of the dialogue has been taken from episode 3x07. 
> 
> Any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr! You can find me @ [coffeeandchemicals](https://coffeeandchemicals.tumblr.com/), where I am obsessing over _Black Sails_ and _Stranger Things_.


End file.
